I Stole His Face, His Guillotine

Your royal stench reaches me,
Full-time tyrant, part-time executioner
You, the king who decreed death row
For men who bedded rebellious shapeshifters

The blade glimmers overhead
Refracting sunlight in my eyes,
Obscuring your half-rotten form
You who decreed the Passionate must see their death
Lying upside down upon the gallows
Like your own shapeshifting wife

And still you thirst for vengeance,
Self-deluded that shapeshifters stole your queen
When it was you who slit her throat

Now you shift the debt upon the prince’s lover, claiming his
execution holy
Ignorant to your son’s true nature, like you were to your own wife’s
Seduced by gold, by status, by skewed masculine perception
The tears you’ll shed for a thing you so despised
Father, you’ll never know you killed your own son,
As I claimed my lover’s form for mine

—Akis Linardos